Monday, 1 June 2015

The Stella That Never

I've been too long absent from the blogsphere, saving my musings for a post Word Factory event in London Town at Waterstones, Picadilly. Expected to be part of a literati gathering at an evening salon and masterclass with the irrepressible Stella Duffy. Prolific and most excellent writer and curator of Fun Palaces.

Unfortunately my stamina in the face of illness doesn't match hers, I couldn't move my pathetic flesh out of bed down to the station and onto the train. Although the mind was willing, the flesh was - too weak. So I've made up what might have been, 'Everything is Moving, Everything is Joined.'

Arriving early at Waterstones, I bumped into Stella on the Stairs. We compared new dresses and comfortable choice of footwear, the reality of writing against the romantic illusion of having a writers garret to return to rather than a small town suburb. I bemoaned the fact that it was not the writerly life I imagined when I dreamed of a the career as a child. She told me with pen and paper you can write anywhere, anytime anyplace. I try, like a weak Martini. Her eyes sparkled as she recalled coming across some of my work through a mutual friend, an agent, no less, who had talked of me in warm and glowing tones, who only regretted that could not represent me at that time, but she knew of someone else, a sure fire three book contract, tour of the UK in three star hotels and book signings in Bolton, I'm getting carried away now. Ah Stella, it was not to be. Another time, another place.

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